Project OD
by TheRadLlamatron
Summary: Illegally created drugs and self trickery; three different plots, three different leaders and Tweek is stuck in the middle. The only issue being is that these plans conflict with each other. The most important things get played with wrongly as feelings towards things and people enhance unnaturally. Its flaws can be more deadly than death, and they all learn that the hard way.
1. The Fore Story

**The Obsession Drug**

Fore Story

* * *

Moving houses usually takes quite a toll on someone, and moving to a different town takes a much greater hit. It all depends on how long you have lived in the place, the people who live there you have acquainted over the same period of time and how much the town means to you.

The Tuckers, with the fortunate exception of Richard, latest move to Denver didn't cause Craig much distress at all. If anything, it was more of a sign of relief. South Park suffered from numerous attacks and catastrophes, usually triggered by the group of complete and utter assholes, and all this contradicted with his liking of everything nice, boring and simple.

Denver was more urban than the trashy town called South Park was and ever will be. It was populated with beautiful suburban houses of every pastel colour in each street you passed, the scent of emerald pine trees and fresh, fertile vines would bite your senses along with the bitterness of the mild current of wind and expensive chrome skyscrapers full of many businessmen and women stood up and showed its power from dusk to dawn without wavering.

There were multiple seasons, unlike South Park which only knew winter, such as budding spring, the sizzling summer, the fall which alarmed all farmers for harvest and winter, the only season where the whole town is covered in multiple sheets of snow and people would come together as one for Christmas in the town square. In this same place, a large Christmas tree decorated in plain or glittery multi-colored baubles, golden or silver stars of a different range of size glimmer in the early moonlight and it was topped with the angel Gabriel, this tree was planted firmly in the center and everyone would sing sentimental Christmas carols and hymns till their weary eyes weighed down for sleep.

Craig Tucker loved Denver, with its scenery of strong mountains covered in moss, leaves and some occasional snow, the people he had found a sense of connection with and its simplicity. He didn't know what to think about the town 4 years ago when his mother had told him the week after Richard was evicted from their household to elsewhere that they were moving there. He knew they were moving to a new home before he was even told, for he was ordered to pack everything in his room, and Ruby's without any say, into big, cardboard boxes the colour of umber.

He guessed they were all moving to the estate full of trouble downtown, the one that was owned by notorious pimps because their money was tight since his father's leave. Richard was the only one who brought money into the house, despite the fact he went inside casinos to gamble furiously; they had a source of income never the less.

It was then when his mother surprised him by saying that it was Token's parents who lent her the money so they could live where ever they wanted. The remaining Tuckers were all grateful for this, and they expressed this in their own way; through awkward hugs, cheap drugstore 'thank you' cards and popular gifts.

On moving day, Craig's non blood-related brothers, Clyde and Token, had visited him to bid him goodbye the only way they knew how. They threw a party, a small one in Craig's miniature bedroom as he preferred isolation, including a plain chocolate cake they had bought from the local consignment store, some bottles of alcohol they had stolen from their parent's cupboards and heck of a lot of banter.

They had left at around 7:00 pm according to Craig's cell phone and he was alone in the same empty room. He stared outside at the dull, gray sky full of clouds hiding the lost sun whilst stroking his guinea pig, Stripe, with his dominant hand, his left hand, in the state of contemplation. He could faintly see his reflection on the window and the little vapor caused by the breath emitting from his nostrils. His focus drifted from the townspeople wondering around on the pavements below him to the face staring back at him. He didn't like what he saw; the person in front of him was grumpy, their face was dressed with pre-adolescent pimples, blackheads and healing bruises caused by his old man. The same old man who left a week ago, finally. Craig smiled, showing his trapped teeth, and scowled deeply at the metal braces he was forced to wear since 6th grade. His friends teased him because of this, and he only flipped them off, imagining his parents who did this to him as he did so, too.

Underneath all this was suppressed anger, something he took out on his ex-friend daily, the person's name being Tweek Tweak. His actions were apparently justified once Tweek personally chose to knock Craig unconscious in 7th grade from his betrayal. Craig didn't know why Tweek had done so and still didn't, but he knew that he now had an excuse to vent his emotions through aggressive abuse, and his human punching bag was the petit, twitchy freak that was well known for his coffee, spastic paranoid outbursts and the mild schizophrenia which gave him hallucinations of gnomes that steal your underwear. Everyday and at every given opportunity it had with it was the time when the brittle bones in Tweek's frail frame suffered the most as well as his mental state.

What goes around, comes back around was what the wise man had told us. And surely, this was karma's doing, right? Of course, it was.

The way Tweek would whimper and scamper away whenever Craig would join his presence in the hallway became one of his favourite things. What ever had pissed him off and turned him into a monster would simply fade away; instead it would turn him into a sadistic being that just enjoyed watching Tweek in pain; especially when it was him who was inflicting such a horrifying sensation upon him.

No longer was Richard in charge of this situation, it was Craig now.

Craig was distracted from his thoughts when he felt the vague roaring from the moving van's engine hit his ear drums thanks to his good sense of hearing.

His mother screamed at him nasally from the living room, "Craig, come down now, the moving van is here!"

Craig merely huffed and put Stripe back into his red cage after picking it from the floor, ignoring his animalistic chatters, before looking at his bare, indigo bedroom. He was sure he wasn't going to come back here again, and he was glad that was the case.

_'South Park is a fucking horrible town, full of retarded rednecks and dumb assholes,' _and with that he opened his chestnut door from its dusty, brass spherical knob with his unoccupied hand, stormed out, banged it against the walls so it would close, headed down the stairs, out of the house where his sister, Ruby, already was texting her girlfriends and hopped into the white van with Stripe's cage still in his arms.

Ruby followed suit and let the men made of muscle throw the boxes into the back of the truck, one large box by another. Elizabeth checked if everything was fine by glancing around the living room and left as she figured she didn't give a shit, she was finally leaving this retched place to go live in Denver. The amount of fucks the Tuckers gave at that time had amounted to none.

After 15 minutes, the two Hispanic men and Elizabeth sat down on the comfortable, beige leather seats with the siblings who bickered with middle fingers. Elizabeth joined in once she settled down next to Ruby in the back and rolled her eyes when both of her children gave her the double flip of the bird before cradling whatever was in their hands and arms once again.

Tossing the bird around was the Tuckers only natural way of communication because facial expressions and melodramatic speeches was not their style. They all preferred it their own way; The Tucker Way.

The lighter skinned driver with a black, partially gelled cow lick switched on the ignition and single-handedly started driving in the speed limit of 20 mph. Stripe was not yet used to being in car journeys and started squealing again; Craig had to calm him down by muttering some Peruvian sayings and looking at him with his cobalt eyes. His red-headed sister always flipped him off for being out of character when it came to his pet and Craig always returned the gesture; The Tucker Way.

The rest of the journey was peaceful; the only sound to have been heard was the strumming guitars and other instruments that were often played in Latin musical pieces on the radio and the blocked noises of obnoxious drunkards from the entrance of the barely empty bars owned by white trash.

They spent the next few years in a mint blue suburban household with a small but reasonably sized garden. It had a terracotta porch and on it were some rickety, wooden white arm chairs that sat beside a matching round table with four legs. Elizabeth got a job online as that didn't require any face-to-face socialization and got paid $250 weekly, a great improvement from having near to nothing, and Craig, along with Ruby, went to the local schools. The schools names were as original as South Park's, Denver Middle School and Denver High School, but was full of nicer and more tolerable people than the irritating fat ass and the depressed jock.

Craig had befriended a couple of people when he went there and was questioned on why he wore the same thing everyday if he was from South Park, he explained why and it was because he didn't give a fuck and they all agreed. In Denver, everyone also wore the same attire everyday because that was just the way Colorado worked. It simply wouldn't be the same state without it.

He was one of the few people who were chosen to join an elite gang that roamed the deserted areas of the school; the old playground. Most students were surprised, especially because he was a newcomer and all he had done to join was to get into a fight with one of the footballers in their school on the first day he arrived, and they became envious at how quickly he blended in.

The malls in Denver had a different taste in clothing and Craig got sick and tired of trying to find another chullo hat after he had grown out of his old one. He could only find a stack of beanies and chose the cool blue one seeing as that was the closest hat to his beloved chullo. He still wore an insulating blue fleece as Denver's temperature was not much warmer than South Park most of the time, his worn out black jeans and tired yellow converses which's laces were almost never tied.

The way Craig had no interest what so ever and didn't try to fit in with them by wearing biker jackets, ripped and bloody bandages usually worn by the Mole, Gothic jewellery from Hot Topic, everything dark and perfect for gangsters in the mafia was what made him seem like the right person for the empty spot.

Damien and Christophe were uncertain with Gregory's choice in members as they usually ended up being 'pussy ass preps' that tried to look bad ass so they could pull girls. They all agreed on testing him as a beginner's trial to see if he was truly worthy. Craig passed eventually after being the first newbie to be able to shoot a dummy in the region where the heart laid in less than 10 minutes. The Frenchman was impressed and congratulated him in his own language, to which he got insulted to by Gregory for being an ignorant mole in the first place.

Craig at first didn't want to be in their gang as he just wanted to get school over and done with, that was before they said that's what they had wanted, too, and spent most of the time doing rebellious shenanigans for the thrill. As grades lowered, energy and adrenaline rose. They all spent time being ruthless by chain-smoking, binge drinking, illegally piercing where ever they can on their bodies, messing with who ever they can and dealing what ever they could. As the scars and piercings on the Tucker's body rose with age, so did the crimes on his criminal record. They made use of all the privileges that came with looking older than your initial age because of height by driving stolen motorcycles and other vehicles over the speed limit, going into bars to get wasted and start intentional brawls with who ever was in their sight by using weapons such as shovels, guns and fire before getting kicked out. As years passed by, so did the limited time he had with his new best friends, Damien, Christophe and Gregory who had taught him to convert his anger into energy and adrenaline. The time in Denver was the closest he ever had to happiness with the exception of his bros back in his home town.

Craig didn't expect it on one warm and pleasant Friday evening to have his mother say that they were moving back to South Park after all these years.

Elizabeth Tucker had ordered pizza for take-away Friday and Craig had scurried down from half-heartedly revising for his English assessment into the 50's style kitchen to place his margarita slices unto his white ceramic plate.

Both Ruby and Elizabeth were both sitting down on their mahogany dining table next to each other near the door as they ate their large sized portions, ready to tell him about the news.

"Craig," said Mrs. Tucker after she wiped her fingers with a kitchen towel and patted the empty seat next to her, "Sit here."

Craig cocked his eyebrow in confusion because as the years have gone by, they rarely ever sat on the dining table together unless they were celebrating a special occasion or holiday with some family members who only came to give them some money and go away again to California or San Diego.

"Why?" he asked before turning around to face his Mum in her teal silky sleeping robes. He was only wearing his space themed pyjama pants and the air conditioning here was faulty, making him feel colder than he should be. He never saw the point in family sitting down and having a meal together when it usually consisted in them telling each other to fuck off, "We never sit together, why now?"

"Craig, just sit down, for fucks sake," Ruby groaned and flipped her brother off the millionth time that day.

"Fuck you, Ruby, no one cares about you," Craig reminded Ruby before leaning his back against the counter, the only reason why it was not cold was because of the late 6 pm heat seeping through the windows.

"Stop talking bull shit, Craig," Ruby snapped back before tying her auburn locks into a pony tail with a violet hair band, preparing herself for a fight she was planning to have with her brother who was already messing the hair that only reached the tip of his neck. They both growled at each other like lions in a cage before trying to charge at each other.

"Ruby Ella Tucker, sit down," screamed Mrs. Tucker before glaring at her only son, "You sit down, too, young man."

The room the colour of coral pink silenced and they both sat down and began eating their food like civilized children, "that's better," before both of them flipped their mother off.

They took their time eating in a comfortable atmosphere, a silent one, before Elizabeth tried raising the same thing up again, "so Craig. Ruby," she said as she nodded her head towards the said person when she mentioned their names, "I need to tell you something."

"Mhmm," they both replied in unison as they wiped their tomato sauce covered mouths with the kitchen towels from Walmart.

Tuckers are always straight to the point, they don't dwell on things and don't stutter from hesitation when telling one something; The Tucker Way.

"We are moving back to South Park."

Both Craig and Ruby's eyes bugged from surprise, they expected that they were going on holiday the following weekend or something but they didn't expect this.

"WHAT?"

"We are moving back to South Park next month," Mrs. Tucker repeated in the same monotonous way.

"But that's when Ryan, _only _the coolest dude in our year, is having his birthday party," Ruby whined, making sure she does her puppy dog eyes at her Mum to see if she would change her mind.

"Then you can't go, simple as fuck, Ruby," the 39 year old blonde woman sighed at her daughter as she waited for Craig to rant about this as well.

The Tuckers may be straight to the point with such things as this and do not dwell on their troubles often but they _always_ found a fault in everything if it didn't fulfill their selfish desires; The Tucker Way.

"Mum, did you ever think about our opinion on this?"

There was a long pause in the room, telling Craig to carry on with his speech.

"No, _you didn't_, because you never thought about us, maybe how we actually might like Denver and how we don't want to go back to that town full of white trash, did you?"

It was a rhetorical question that only deserved a middle finger from the woman he was ranting to. Ruby smiled at the response and the temperamental side of Craig came up again.

"Are you smiling?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I."

Craig cringed at her slight overbite and questioned his Mum about it, "Why didn't Ruby get braces and_ I_ did?"

"Because it wasn't as bad as yours, Craig," she replied, "you needed it."

Ruby started guffawing; holding her stomach from the laughter cramps, as little tears gradually trickled on her waterline at the paleness of Craig's face. He flipped her off, naturally, before stomping his way out of the room only to hear more laughter from the both of them.

_"Fucking assholes," _he muttered as he went up the stairs, two steps at a time, opened the door to his bedroom, the room furthest from the stairs, and he flopped face up on his bed. His other brunette pet, an intelligent, rough but high maintenance traditional Persian feline called Spot because of the white spots on all of her paws, pounced unto his bed and starting meowing next to Craig's ear. Ruby loved to mess with Spot and play with her but the independent cat favored Craig for his understanding of animals.

Craig turned around so he was lying on his side, facing Spot, and started stroking her behind her furry ears, earning some low but relaxing purring from it. He thought about moving back and how he preferred it in Denver; he felt the occasional anxious fluttering sensation in his chest as he meditated on it. He missed Clyde and Token, sure, but he would miss his friends from here as well. He didn't give a fuck on how people were going to react to his new appearance. The piercings in his ears and septum, the side shaving on the left side of his scalp and the scars from all the fights he had. What Craig dreaded the most was if there was a change in South Park, a rare thing to happen but the impossible always does in that town.

He had an instinctive feeling that when he was going to go back there, something he didn't want to do but you can't persuade a Tucker to change their fixed plans, he was going to be forced to do something he didn't want to do because of what he did here in Denver. He didn't know why and how that would happen but he didn't focus on that because that was not a very 'Tucker' like thing to do.

He just stared back into the glistening amber eyes in front of him and covered himself with the sapphire bed sheets after letting her go. He didn't care much for the assessment anyway so he stopped revising, he had barely done all the other homework he has been assigned and the dim light from the window behind him told him that he was around time that he got the fuck to sleep.

So Craig just did that, for the rest of month. Sleeping, waking up, rebelling, failing and enjoying the time he had left in Denver because this was the closest he has ever felt to happiness in a long time. His instincts annoyed him further and further but he didn't mind it at all.

_Moving away from your hometown usually takes quite a toll on someone, and moving back to the same town, South Park, to go through lots of drama takes a much greater hit. It all depends on how much drama there is, the people included and how much drama affected you._

* * *

-Project OD-


	2. Tweek the Tutor

**Chapter 1**

Tweek the Tutor

* * *

The Tuckers have come back to South Park in the same moving van to the same household as before. The previous family who lived there have refurbished the place nicely and gave it a much more contemporary appearance. Its bricks were now painted a fresh midnight blue all around and all the dull, dead weeds were removed and replaced with a bountiful amount of flowers, unfortunately hidden under the layers of snow.

All the doors were still chestnut but the knobs were now a clean, steam punk brass instead of being ridden with dusty sediments. All the walls inside the house were indigo, the carpeted floors were maroon, the black and white tiles sparkled and the bulbs illuminated the room brighter than the sun ever could.

They all reluctantly pitched in to put every old and new piece of furniture back to its original place. When you entered the house no. 54 you would be immediately greeted with the hallway; the walls were full of pictures in golden frames being hung unto nails by strong string, the steal coat hanger carried the jackets right beside the door on its right, the striped green and yellow welcome rug with '_fuck you' _written in black, Arial bold letters and the common scent of Febreeze welcomed you nicely from your very first step inside.

There were two doors a few feet down which were perpendicular to each other, one led you to the living room -on the right- and one to the kitchen -on the left- and you would have to pass both before you would reach the wooden staircase.

The living room was the same as before; the same comfy chocolate brown, leather sofa they had bought in Denver, 20 inch LED black television sat in front of the oak lounge table which was around the size of both objects it stood between. On the low set oak table behind the sofa was a transparent plastic vase with blue bells and lilacs inside it, they worked as natural air freshener, and the walls were also plastered with cheerful family pictures no one remembers being taken.

The kitchen had walls that were covered in tiles and it was barely big enough for the old dining table from before to fit in the center of the room. All the counters were cream, they all had 3 drawers, and they filled one side of the room as the white fridge, oven and washing machine filled the other.

If you went up the stairs, all the bedrooms looked the same. The beds sat next to the windows and the dressers stayed well away from it as they stood next to the doors. They were full of objects, toys and technological possessions that were entertaining to some. The bathroom was the closest to the top of the stairs and it looked exactly like the kitchen except smaller and had different equipment inside it.

The architecture of the household consisted of repetition but it was nice, boring and simple. Just the way the Tuckers liked it.

The Tucker siblings walked together to school after they had packed their lunch, put it inside brown paper bag, stuffed it inside a green pack lunch box made out of hard plastic and finally shoved it into their black messenger bags. They tried to get used to the feeling of snowflakes hitting their goosebumps when it was meant to be spring, the way the grassland was more like a winter wonderland and the growth spurts of all the people they tolerated over the years.

Craig took out a cigarette from his nearly empty box of Marlboros, placed it firmly between his chapped lips and lit it with his baby blue lighter with Red Racer stickers. He made sure he sucked the chemicals in and let the cancerous stick fog his mind with nicotine before holding it between his thin fingers and exhaling the smoke.

"You shouldn't really smoke, y'know," Ruby warned Craig. Her straight hair was tied in a ponytail with the same violet hair band. She wore a jade hoodie, that made her mid-length ginger locks stand out, that covered the many layers of teen boy t-shirts, a pair of blue khaki trousers with elastic at the hem was carelessly tucked into her black winter boots that made prints on the snow. She was a self-declared tom-boy and used it as an excuse for her stubbornness.

Craig glanced at Ruby from the corner of his eye and looked back at what was in front of him. He knew he shouldn't smoke but he still did it regardless, that's the whole point of rebelling.

"That's fine, I wouldn't really give a shit if you died," she added when they were nearing the entrance of the joint South Park Middle and High School.

The Tucker siblings departed without speaking, Ruby went up to her group of skater boy and girl friends and Craig dropped his slow killer, put it out with the balls of his feet and popped a boiled cherry sweet in his mouth to disguise the smell before heading inside.

Meanwhile, Butters was already tiring himself out by running around, trying to find his group of friends, to tell them about the latest gossip. Word was going round that Craig Tucker was coming back to South Park and he had to tell them, it was his duty.

Butters' hair has grown so it wasn't like a tiny Mohawk on the top of his head and it was now short and messy from all the running, his face was flushed from the fast movement and his breathing was ragged when he found them in the hallway.

"Fellas!" he shouted as he kept jogging across the narrow room full of cliques and turquoise lockers, "Fellas!"

"Yes, Butters?"Cartman asked after spitting some anti-Semitic insults to the angered Jew standing against the locker as he stood with his fists clutched next to his best friend, Stan Marsh. Kenny had died a few days ago from a common car crash when they were playing Chicken on the road beside Stark's Pond. The infamous group has now found humor in his deaths and didn't mourn for him anymore; they no longer saw the point in doing so.

"Rumor has it that-" Butters' words were cut short when the rival he was going to warn them about opened the metal, heavy-duty doors whilst wearing a beanie instead of a chullo, the same old fleece, jeans and dirty converses.

Stan's face scowled at the sight, he believed things were better without the trouble maker around in the past 4 years. The bullying has died down once he no longer tortured his good friend, Tweek, and he was proud of that. Cartman and Kyle didn't appreciate his presence either, and found it rather annoying that he had to come back here as well.

"No," Stan said whilst shaking his head in distaste as pinched his nose bridge, "no, no, NO, _NO!"_

Tweek was standing right beside Stan and hid himself when he heard that Craig was back. He gulped and sipped on his coffee from his large caramel thermos and prayed that he wouldn't notice him, which was unlikely because Tuckers were giants and Tweek's violent shaking would make him stand out from the crowd.

"Stan, calm down, you're scaring Tweek," Kyle tried to console Stan by resting his hand on his shoulder-blade. They all knew that out of every one in this school, Stan despised Craig the most.

"_Ngh,_ Stan isn't –_argh!_– scaring me, K-Kyle," Tweek reassured him before taking another drop of coffee. He had to refill his thermos; he was running out of his liquidized gold.

Craig flipped off and grunted at everyone who was staring at him. Most of them turned away to mind their own business, taking a few peeks here and there when it was possible.

He looked different, with his own growth spurt making him 6'3 ft, his piercings, new hat, a face free from pimples and a little stubble. You could argue that he looked attractive, depending on your taste but it seemed like most of the girls were already swooning and were thinking of moving him to the top of the _'Cutest Looking Boys' _list.

Craig didn't care at all, though. He was looking for his bros, and he found them when he heard the feminine squeaking by the one and only Clyde Donovan.

Clyde was alarmed after several minutes of squinting at this person; he didn't remember who he was. People were saying this was Craig but he didn't look as pale as he did before, so it couldn't be. It was until he saw him flip the bird and mutter obscenities in the same nasally way did he realise, _'Oh shit, that is Craig.'_

"Craig!" he screamed and clung unto Craig's fleece, "you're finally back, bro!"

Craig looked back at the person and smirked, showing his dimples and revealing his forced-to-be bleached teeth while he did so, at Clyde.

Token noticed that there was no more braces and arched his eyebrows when he saw them, he couldn't help but mention it, "...your braces are off."

Craig ran his tongue over his teeth and smiled again because of freedom. Clyde ordered him to show him his teeth so he could see and Craig awkwardly did so whilst looking questionably at Clyde.

"Aww," Clyde sulked, "I don't get to call you brace face anymore."

Craig closed his mouth and showed Clyde his favourite finger. His friends laughed at the memories but this moment was cut short when Craig remembered about Tweek and how he now felt like he wanted to reminisce with his 'buddy' through acting.

His ice cold cobalt eyes scanned the room and it didn't take him long to find Tweek, he was cuddling himself right beside his own locker. Most of were now barely empty, apart from the 11th graders, and the group of assholes had probably gone to suck each others balls in the girls toilet so he had no one to fight him off.

_'Awesome.'_

Craig took long strides towards Tweek who was whispering about the pressure and how it was too much, this made him chuckle lowly so it sounded more like a growl.

"GAH! W-WHO IS THAT?" Tweek screeched when he span around and stared at the form leaning over his 5'8 ft height. His light hazel eyes with speckles of lime widened when he saw the last person he wanted to see in his whole life time.

Craig Eduardo Tucker.

Craig raised his hand and used his calloused finger pads to forcefully take hold of Tweek's chin, used his thumb to run circles on his alabaster skin, grinned when Tweek dropped his thermos on the floor and when he silently cried in the hallway.

He only started talking when Tweek's eyes full of fear locked with his and it took a while for this to happen. Craig's hand was shaking under the uncontrollable vibration from schizophrenic's spasms but this didn't ruin his speech, "Well, hello there."

Tweek didn't reply but he waited for the inevitable to arrive. Craig smiled when he knew that Tweek had learnt well and just before he was going to grab him by his olive green shirt collar, pin him to the locker and let the words dripping with venom come out of his poisonous mouth and into his tiny ear, he felt a new person come to join them and a tap on his shoulder.

"Craig," said the smooth voice. Craig turned around, meaning that he had to let go of the mentally disturbed boy in front of him, to look at a girl not that much taller than Tweek; her hair was golden and in messy but 'perfect' ringlets, her hearty face was covered in tan foundation, had thin lips that shone because of the ruby red lip gloss, the apples of her cheeks were a faint red and her butterscotch eyes were creased from the small smile she was giving him.

She used her finger to flirtatiously play with one of the coils in her hair before asking Craig something that was on her mind since he arrived, "Hey, Craig."

Craig furrowed his eyebrows but responded all the same, "What do you want, Bebe."

Bebe ignored the darkness in his tone and complimented him instead, "I like your silver piercings, where did you get them?"

Craig didn't reply that time.

"W-well, are you free tonight?"

Craig was free that night, he had nothing to do, but he really didn't want to hang out with Bebe. Plus, he could see Clyde crossing his fingers that Bebe wasn't asking him out because after all this time Clyde still believed that they were going to go out some time for real.

"No."

"Why? What are you doing then?"

Bebe couldn't just let go. This is why Craig decided that he was asexual; he knew he didn't like guys because he wasn't a fag but he also wasn't interested in girls because they were clingy, desperate and underneath all that make up was a really ugly bitch he had no interest in at all.

"I'm..." Craig thought of an excuse to not hang out with her and the first person who came to mind was Tweek, "I'm hanging out with Tweek later."

"I thought you hated Tweek."

"I made up with him during my time in Denver," Craig swiftly retorted.

"Then why were you going to beat him up just now?" Bebe asked like the smart ass she was.

It took Craig a lot of strength to not beat her up then, but he knew it wasn't a cool thing to do to a fellow brother's crush.

"Nope, I wasn't, isn't it Twee..." he turned his body back to grab Tweek by his shoulders and give him a fake side-hug but it seems like he had already ran away from him when he was given the chance.

Bebe chuckled and stated the time of the date, "5 pm, let's meet at Stark's Pond."

Clyde's face went agape, as well as Token's, and Craig just snarled angrily. Bebe snarled back playfully before strutting her way down the hallway with her friends when the ear bleeding bell rang, "See you later, Craig!"

Tears starting streaming down Donovan's face and Token sympathetically patted his back, "Don't worry, dude, there is always more fish in the sea."

Clyde cried even more, "I don't even _like_ fish!"

Token thought about the right response and used it when he knew it was just the way to cheer him up, "There will always be loads of tacos for you to eat, Clyde."

Clyde's round face lit up and he giggled when he thought of a sexual innuendo, the result of hanging out with Kenny too much.

"Thanks, Token," and with that, Clyde went to catch up with Jimmy, the handicapped comedian whom he shared Science with Ms. Choksondik with, "Hey, Jimmy!"

Token went up to Craig and asked him about what happened, "Bebe Stevens just asked you out. How did that happen?"

Craig simply huffed and told him his plan, "I'm going to get Clyde to go to the date instead of me, and I have no idea on how that happened."

Token nodded and smiled at Craig. Craig hadn't changed at all, apart from his bad guy outlook he owned, he was the same uncomplicated guy with a way around everything.

* * *

The Tuckers' had arrived late in the school year, the time when they would be having school assessments. The heads of the school figured this wouldn't matter because most of the teachers were teaching the same subjects as they would be in Denver, so Craig should be able to pass, right?

They were wrong.

Craig was sitting on a green leather armchair in front of Mr. Mackey and Principal Victoria in the school office. All the teachers from the Elementary school swapped with the ones in the Middle and High school as Mayor McDaniels thought it was a better idea for them to teach here because of how their teaching ways suited a more mature audience. Beside Craig on his right was Tweek in his own seat, he was sipping his thermos, looking around the lavender room, the topaz brown carpet in front of him, the books on the shelves next to him and the pine desk like a lost mouse.

Craig was getting a lecture on how he should improve on his school work because his grades were disappointing and he, as a smart child, could do a lot better than what he achieved.

"Having an F is bad, _mmkay?_" Mr. Mackey began. He was sitting on an armchair similar to the students' ones but it was bigger and crimson. Principal Victoria was 'tutting' and 'tsking,' her strawberry blonde afro curls bounced up and down with each shake of the head from disapproval, as she looked through Craig's test papers on the large desk.

Craig flipped him off before he could properly start.

"Craig, did you just flip me off."

"No," Craig cheekily replied before flipping him off again.

"_Craig Tucker," _Principal Victoria scolded him before they could start the never-ending game again.

"Yes?"

"You really need to improve, you're a very bright child and should be getting A's and B's," she schmoozed, trying to persuade him to become like Wendy or Kyle in her strong, intruding Scottish accent.

Craig was still confused on why Tweek was sitting there when this had nothing to do with him, but Principal Victoria answered that for him when she read his face, "_Craig_, Tweek is going to tutor you everyday after school in the library from 3:00 to 5:00 _and you_ can not bunk from this as your mother has agreed to this by signing this letter, okay."

"What," Craig was disgusted with the idea and showed his dislike for this by frowning at everyone and Tweek especially.

"T-too much –_ngh- _pressure," Tweek muttered to himself whilst he fidgeted with his loose buttons, pulled on his wild hair strands, bit his nails and the skin on his chapped lips.

"You see, Craig, Tweek here has passed his tests with flying colours," Mr. Mackey grinned at Tweek with praise.

Tweek had a phobia of failure; he couldn't stand of thinking of being one of those homeless people on the streets who beg people for food, clothes and money. He pitied them and when he didn't think they were terrifying and were going to rob him, he gave them some free beverages such as coffee or tea. Because of this phobia, Tweek would study hard when he was alone, which was most of the time. He didn't pass notes, gossip or zone out often in class which was strange because of his ADHD but he found learning distracted his brain from the gnomes following him where ever he goes; it's the closest he ever gets to peace, really.

Tweek smiled timidly back when he heard those words, looked at the bummed Craig for a split second and back to the thermos in his hand.

"Couldn't someone _else_ tutor me," Craig whined, he really didn't want to be tutored by _him _even though teasing him would be hilarious, he had things to do like watch reruns of Red Racer and mocking Clyde with Token for being Clyde.

"No, Craig, Tweek is tutoring you starting from today and that's _final_," Principal Victoria scolded Craig yet again before putting away his file.

Craig flipped her off when she turned away and Mr. Mackey was taken aback, "Craig, did you just flip Principal Victoria off."

"No."

"For goodness sake, get out, Craig," Principal Victoria shouted from where she stood and Craig gladly left with a puff, pissed off because he missed most of his lunch break.

Tweek picked the thermos from his lap, closed them and put them in his messenger bag full of books because he didn't trust lockers at all, waved good-bye to Mr. Mackey and left the room to refill his thermos with more glorious coffee.

* * *

It was 3 pm and Tweek was already inside the undersized and restricted library. He sat down near the round wooden table with grey painted on the top which was closest one to the exit door; all the doors were made of heavy metal, waiting patiently for Craig to arrive.

There were many shelves, all of them were made out of blue plastic, and all of them were full of many books from different genres. Near the entrance were the books about non-fiction, the side with the most students huddled together, and as you went further in you would see biographies, ones about historical figures, adventure, humor, romance, supernatural and horror books.

Tweek's button nose was tucked inside the pages of a historical book called 'WW2' about a young Israelite in the Second World War and his unreasonable time in the brutal camp site. He enjoyed the mesmerizing smell of old books and the way the small words would make him forget about his enemies.

He was flicking the page; he was half way through the book, when he heard the door slam open and immediately cocked his head to see the dangerous man possibly trying to start a school shooting. It was not a sociopath murderer, though, but Craig who was now taking off his hat at the sudden warmth of the room. He looked around to find Tweek sitting down on one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs the school could afford and went to sit in front of him.

"Okay, spaz, let's get this over and done with," Craig said as he rubbed his palms together, tucked his head under his shoulder strap and took off his bag completely. He tried to look enthusiastic about this because people were here and he didn't want any one to be suspicious about his and Tweek's current situation.

"O-okay, Craig," Tweek nodded and took out his thermos full of fresh, delicious coffee.

"So, w-what do you want me –_gah!- _to t-teach you."

"Humph," Craig took his time to think of what he needed to learn. If he was going to be stuck here every day with this dude then he was going to have to make it worth while without making any commotion.

"I have a music assessment but it includes writing I_ think_ in the next 3 weeks," Craig remembered. Tweek nodded to show his acknowledgement, opened his bag by separating the Velcro and took out his Music text-book.

Tweek spent the next two hours teaching Craig about all he needed to know to pass his exam; what he should revise, what he should note down in class and the rest of the basics. Craig didn't want to believe it, but he honestly thought Tweek was okay to be around. He was funny, in his own little way, but still had his moments and the way he didn't twitch when he spoke about the subject was pretty weird but interesting.

The inquisitive one of the two questioned Craig about his side shaving, the piercings, the bruises, who did it and if he was hurt. He shook his head to tell him that it didn't since he was a Tucker after all and it's in his blood to have tough skin.

It was 30 minutes until the library was going to close and this startled both of them. The library's closing time was 6 pm and that meant that they had been here half an hour longer than they should have been.

"Tweek, sweetie, the library is going to close in half an hour," was the sentence that was softly said by Cartman's Mum, Liane, who had found a place in working in the library because of her son's request of getting richer. This wasn't what exactly what Eric had in his mind and he got angry when he heard the news, screaming about better methods of getting fucked by his Mum, but he calmed down when she finally bought him the new iPad. He played it in front of Kyle, Stan and Kenny who laughed at him for having his Mum work in the _library_; he showed it to Kyle for being a Jew even though he swore that he would never by another Apple product again after the human centipad incident, at Kenny because he was still one of the poorest kids in school and at Stan just because he could.

"O-okay, I'm gonna –_jesus!- _go now, C-Craig," Tweek said as he packed everything in his bag and put it back on his shoulder with his left hand because he was ambidextrous. He still couldn't believe that in this short space of time Craig hadn't killed him yet and neither did Craig.

The noirette sighed, put his beanie back on as well as his bag and followed Tweek after politely waving Liane goodbye. It has become a habit, being polite to adults other than his parents, because Richard would force him to be nice to visitors and family members ever since he could or he would be punished.

A small part of Craig that was excited for tomorrow, Tuesday, for another tutoring session with Tweek and maybe, maybe, he would befriend him if scrawny boy didn't set off his short temper like he used to. While the bad ass and the feeble teacher were having their own lesson, Bebe was preparing for her date that she thought was with Craig Tucker but instead was with Clyde Donovan. The trickster told Clyde not to worry and to just meet up with her in Stark's Pond at 5 pm casually. Little did he know that what he did caused the creation of the Obsession drug.

* * *

-Project OD: 1-

* * *

_A/N: The beginning of the proper story begins in the next chapter._

_Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it :)_


	3. Deceitful Dates

_A/N: I'm worried on how I portrayed Mr. Donovan as I feel like I've written him as if he was Mr. Tucker instead. It will improve, I promise. It's just... it is hard to add speech to a character that has never/barely spoken in its original show, y'know? So lets say his close relationship with Craig's father is why he talks like that. You know how people begin to copy people's style of speech when they always hear it? Yup, that's my excuse._

_Oh, and I corrected the timing in the last chapter. A month** hasn't** already passed, it's still the same day. I'm awfully sorry about that. It's South Park, anyway. Shit happens, and this is barely a 1/6 of the drama._

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Devious Dates and Betraying Bros ( 1 )

Dates are one of those events that are forever imprinted in your brain, whether you like it or not. Either you asked the other person out or they asked you, it still leads to the same dreadful hours. The places you will visit together, the smells that your nose will taste, the food your mouth will devour, the special moments that hopefully will still make your chest tingle from the memory and the person you were with. There are first dates, good dates, boring dates, blind dates your friends forced you in, positive and negative life-changing dates and horrible dates you regret terribly.

_But has anyone ever been in a deceitful date?_

* * *

**4:00 pm**

Bebe Stevens had already styled her light, radiant hair into a downward maid braid; an old age classic hair-do, fit for someone who appreciates the nice, boring and sophisticated. She used a navy barrette, the one that was voted the prettiest barrette out of their year by the rest of the girls, that was embedded with rhinestones and when it was worn it looked like a raspberry pink rose was wrapped around it; she firmly hooked it to the ending of her braid, right underneath her small left ear and stopped messing about with it after she felt it was on correctly. A pair of small, red hoop earrings hung in the holes that were made in her ear lobes from the young age of 13 years old. An amethyst halter neck dress made of silk with little white dots printed all over it hugged her hard-earned hour-glass figure until it loosely reached her knees. For the lower half of her body, she wore 3 thick nude opaque tights to fight against the cruel weather of South Park, a pair of lavender open toed high heels ironically, around 5 inches in height, and a magenta pea-coat with black buttons that she had bought in the mall with Red and Lola.

Clyde Donovan was dressing up before he was going to practice on his flirting techniques in front of his full body mirror in his bedroom. The room was full of old and new food wrappers from different fast food chains, pictures that held unforgettable memories, colors in the yellow and blue spectrum and trophies from the games the South Park Cows Varsity football team had surprisingly won. A hefty collection of Playboys, top rated movies, box sets and video games lied on the floor near his rack of shoes next to him.

On the top of the pile was the 'F.R.I.E.N.D's' box set and one man on the easily recognizable cover inspired him to be the ultimate man for his date.

So, Clyde quickly stole some hair products and strong masculine perfume from his only parent's alive, Mr. Donovan, bathroom for himself. He remembered when he read one of his mother's magazines that women love quiffs, so he did so. It failed, though, and it took it a while for him to change it back to normal. He decided to slick some of the hair strands on the side with some gel vertically so it was flat against the side walls of his skull. The previous hairstyle thickened his hair so he was stuck with a full fringe on his forehead.

"Argh," he whined out of frustration, "How do chicks do this _every_ day?" he grumbled, temporarily forgetting that he finds pretty much everything hard to do, as he tried to flatten some disobedient hair strands.

He thought he looked like one of the guys in the Beatles. Out of pure irritation, he scooped a big dollop of gel and swept his bangs back so it was almost like Elvis but with no quiff. It worked after a lot of mouse and more gel but there was a few white heads hidden under his skater boy do, and his idol would never go out with that.

He felt like crying when he checked the time on his alarm clock as it blinked and flashed 4:35 pm in electric blue. He was already tired from trying to look just right and it wasn't working, at all. His shoulders and chest felt heavy from exhaustion but he remembered Craig's motivating words.

_"...and don't cry, for fucks sake, Clyde. You are such a pussy."_

He sucked in some machine generated air before letting it out to calm himself down. He nodded to himself in the mirror and put on the black Italian suit his dad told him to wear whenever they were celebrating a special occasion over his casual cyan t-shirt. '_Wow!' _magazine give really great tips about fashion, okay? Okay.

He smirked at himself in the mirror. Apart from the obvious flaws, like puberty choosing to give him common flaws instead of a little mustache like his friends, he looked pretty fly for a white guy.

"Hey, how you _doin,_" Clyde asked the imaginary Bebe in the mirror, "Hey... how _you doin_."

He raised his hands and started pointing at his reflection with his hands like guns as he wiggled his eyebrows, "Hey, how you _doin_~."

He shoved his fists into his pockets and swayed back and forth on his dark, sandy beige carpet before heaving a breath he didn't know he was holding in.

"I'm having a **_date _**with Bebe. This is, _like_, my dream, literally, dude... apart from being a Taco King_… mmm_ tacos," he dreamed momentarily before opening his eyes in a hurry. Clyde checked the time anxiously once again to see that it was now 4:45 pm.

"_Shit_."

He looked outside his window from where he was standing. The sky bombarded with clouds that were gloomy and melancholic, like usual, visually telling him that he should take a coat.

Clyde may not be one of the brightest of the pack but he knew the basics; the only things he needed to know, no need to make things complicated like Token usually does. So, he sprayed some Lynx on his some what formally clothed body because the adverts told him about the 'Lynx Affect' and he wondered if it would work with Bebe; it probably would. He took his lucky red Letterman jacket with the number 'SP' on the right breast region, wore it so it heated his torso and zipped it up. He went back to his trusty mirror next to his brown closet beside his bed and winked after checking himself out.

Yep, this date was going to go just _fine… _hopefully.

It was 4:55 pm when the secretly nervous Clyde rushed down the stairs, went back up to his bedroom to wear one of Mr. Donovan's classy maroon brogues for his average, size 8 feet, and back down again before he was disturbed by his father.

"So, you are _finally_ done with impersonating the fictional womanizer, Joey Tribbiani, in front of your mirror, Clyde," he said in a more of a mocking tone than an inquisitive one in the living room's sandy brown, fairly comfortable couch.

Mr. Donovan had adapted a liking to witty sense of humor from his good friend, Mr. Tucker; he simply enjoyed satire, especially after the pre-mature loss of his stern but loving wife. His wrinkly but warm cinnamon eyes, the eye color Clyde had inherited, were scanning the page about the weather, being a Geologist as well as a shoe shop owner, in the latest town newspaper that was published weekly through are pair of rectangular glasses with a black rim. He didn't even blink at what Clyde was wearing and he didn't think he'd want to. It was probably some tacky booty shorts because Clyde always thought he was sexy and great celebrity impersonator when he was drunk, a scene that occurred often because of Clyde's consistent crying.

Clyde was the worst emotional drunk; he'd be angry at one minute, horny and then sad for the next 24 hours. Even during his hangover.

"…Uhuh," Clyde replied, slightly embarrassed at the fact that he was that loud.

"That's great, because, _you know_, Clyde, how many times I've told you..."

"Dutch people can not be sexy, only the Scottish and Irish can."

Roger Donovan was Scottish from his mother's side and Irish from his father's. He always saw himself to be incredibly attractive even though he still wore those horrendous grandpa cardigans over his ironed shirt and expensive tailored jeans.

"You got_ that_ right, Softie."

Clyde winced the nickname given to him because he wore his emotions under his thin sleeve every day. He didn't like it, but he couldn't help but control his powerful, over whelming water works when ever he was feeling the even slightly hurt by a comment that he felt was insulting, a horrible event he had unfortunately witnessed or if when he was expecting something amazing, learnt that it wasn't happening and felt disappointed.

Clyde checked the time on the wall clock, it was already 5:05 pm, and speedily flew out of the front door. Mr. Donovan shook his head in amusement and gasped in genuine shock when he flicked the page about sports to read that his favourite baseball team had lost, _again._

_'Shit.'_

* * *

**5:21 pm**

Bebe was tapping her shoes in the snowy dent she made from being impatient. It was 21 minutes past the time Craig should have been here and she couldn't bare the thought about the death of Craig if he left her alone like this. He was lucky that she, of all people, asked him out, anyway, because if he hadn't been moved to the top of the list she wouldn't have bothered at all. This certainly would be the talk of the town if he ditched a date with Bebe Stevens seeing as a date with her was liking winning the golden ticket, rare but fucking awesome.

The musky clouds dancing in the now blood-curdling sky fitted with Bebe's mood so perfectly it was unbelievably uncanny. She crossed her arms underneath conspiring double D rack and swore at the empty space surrounding her. The towering trees behind her sheltered her aggravated form from the oncoming snowfall and she was glad for that.

"Bebe," Clyde panted. He was tired from all the running and then the jogging; he could feel the metallic taste of his pumping blood resting in the back of his throat and the heavy oxygen rushing through his arms. He was usually used to all this exercise as he was recently placed as a Quarterback 7 months ago but he lived 11 blocks away from the popular hang out and he was really hungry, pretty much borderline starving. He needed food, and now.

"Is that you, Clyde?" Bebe asked. She could hear the vague crunching sound Clyde's feet were making on the snow, now reaching ankle height, increase in volume and she turned her head to see tired figure still pacing towards her.

"Uh, yeah," Clyde answered when he stopped and stood, gradually leaning in so he could be nose-to-nose with Bebe as he was pretty short and only just a couple of inches above her. His heavy breath hit her coated lips in an even rhythm, his eyes fluttered shut so he could fully indulge this moment as he regulated his faltered breathing and his chubby hands hid in his trouser pockets shyly.

"Uh..." Bebe took a step away, with the awkwardness of being in this position of your ex-boyfriend in mind, and Clyde sulked a bit before regaining his posture, "Where is Craig? _He's late_."

_"... Yup, and if the bitch asks you where I am, say I am with Tweek. You got that?"_ was what Craig had told Clyde during their intense and devious bro-to-bro conversation they had at break. Token was frowning knowingly because he knew how Bebe could be after his brief relationship with Wendy Testaburger in 9th grade, having being forced to hang out with her friends from time to time. She could see through the greatest of lies and punished who ever has done bad actions towards her or her set of preppy friends. Sometimes she was even scarier than Cartman, and Token always grimaced at this.

"He's with Tweek," Clyde repeated his thoughts out loud so Bebe can hear it nice and clear, take it in and just go to a restaurant with him already. He patted his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet inside it an mentally smiled when he felt it in his right one before looking back at Bebe who stared at him with a high level of disbelief.

"Prove it, Clyde. Call Craig so I can _know_ if he is _actually _with Tweek," Bebe growled, bowed her head in a 30 degree angle and bounced it back up expectantly at him to proceed the following action.

Clyde inwardly crossed his fingers, hoping that Craig has already prepared a back up plan if Bebe were to doubt this, which she did, and ask him to call the guy in question himself. He nodded back hesitantly and took out his silver Nokia phone with touch screen, fiddled with it in both hands from the nerves and thick atmosphere, pressed 7 when it was showing him the number pad (Craig's favorite number was 7 so he thought it was fitting that he was '7' on speed dial) and unintentionally let the ringing raise the mild tension Bebe has created.

* * *

**5:21 pm**

There was a cigarette sitting comfortably in their home between Craig's chapped lips, a lazy, covered head resting on the badly painted yellow ochre bricks of a school wall, a pair of shoulders slouching, a pair of hands warming up nicely inside the pockets of a moderately hot fleece and a pessimistic mind running like a hamster wheel as it thought about the strangeness of what happened earlier.

Craig's instincts were still lingering in the back of this same mind and were annoying the fuck out of him with out permission. They were screaming at him about their message, how something he didn't want to happen to begin with will come to pass and it was apparent that this was starting little by little right now. He furrowed his thick eyebrows in confusion; it couldn't be the Tuckers' move back to South Park because even though he didn't want to come back, he felt more passive about that than infuriated. It could have been Tweek, seeing as he didn't murder him or something even remotely close to that. No homicidal thoughts crossed his mind, no urges to smack him nor did he find humor in his persistent ticks that died down in the past few hours once he relaxed.

His eyes traveled to the boy standing next to the right side of him that could possibly be what his instincts were telling him about. Tweek drank his dearly loved thermos like it was the best thing he could ever drink, which was probably true in his case. His nerves were over working again and you could see it in his shaking from it in combination with the weather. His straw-colored mane a few feet away from him waved like a flag whenever a gust of wind blew everything in its path, including the bushes, the trees and the litter causing land pollution, and fell back down to its frizzy, wild state when it stopped only to repeat the same thing again and again.

Tweek looked up from his interesting coal black boots to stare back at what he firstly thought would be intimidating one doing the same to him. Instead it owned a more curious look, a dead cigarette still hanging upwards in his lips and Tweek's first reaction was to act pissed off, for what ever reason.

"W-What is –_ngh- _it, assh-hole, huh?" he asked angrily, a dark scowl started to grow on his typically troubled face, "c-cut out the b-bullshit and –_gah- _g-get it over with, C-C-Craig –_Jesus-_."

Tweek was tired of the sudden friendliness Craig was showing him as this wasn't like him at all.

People usually forget about Tweek's tough exterior, and still remain shocked when they see this side of him. It wasn't unusual; actually, it was just masked by all the anxiety unsuccessfully being treated by therapists and psychologists. This very core of him only unveiled itself when he was with this very person, Craig Tucker. Even though he scared him to no ends, especially in public, his remaining bit of pride always loved to cuss him and punch him when it felt its strongest. This only really happened when he was pestered by the other students, their whispers about what Craig supposedly and probably had said makes the unsatisfied part of him grow and would him box Craig around when he wasn't feeling weak, which was now never ever since the 'Biggest Fight of the Year' in 8th grade. 'Weak' was Tweek's middle name; not that he liked it but it was true.

The contemplative man's temperamental switch was finally triggered on. His lesson on energy and adrenaline was long forgotten and anger came back like in a family reunion, _'Just when I see him in a good light, he fucking starts it again. Fucking… bitchy… **wagon**.'_

Craig spat out his last cigarette, a minimal amount of saliva falling with it, and left it to lie on the concrete before leaving his spot near the entrance to the 'tough' guy trying to start a fight with him. His bony hands left his pockets; turned into fists at his side, his somewhat wrinkled knuckles changed from its faint, sunny tan he got in Denver and turned into a menacing, ghost white. His eyes changed from being wide into little slits, his lips twitched downwards and his eyebrows copied the previous ones of the petrified blond trembling under his chilling aura. "Get what over with, freak?"

Tweek flinched at his newly found intimidating use of words, instantly regretting what he said, "T-too m-m-much –_argh- _pressure~."

He took a big sip of coffee but that didn't help at all; Craig was approaching closer and closer and he was belittling his scrawny self more and more. He was saved by an over protective jock who busted through the doors and hated Craig like no other.

Stan was going on about the game to a good friend of his, rambling about the touchdowns and how easy it was, "_Yeh, that touchdown was a piece of_- Craig, stop being such a fucking asshole to Tweek!" Stan screamed when he saw Tweek trying to run away from a close punch. He was already glowering at Craig like an unmanageable cannibal ready to kill and only had Kyle to restrain him by holding him by his fore-arms.

"Stan…" Kyle mumbled in his ear fearfully, he could feel the uneasiness and the sickness in the pit of his stomach, as he tried to tame him.

"Fucking _Marsh_," Craig seethed through his straight teeth. He figured that Stan had just finished football training, Clyde decided to skip that day because of Bebe, and Kyle was there to eyeball Stan because he was obviously gay after all those girls he rejected. This didn't count for Craig, he was asexual not a closeted homosexual mentally touching and fucking his 'Super Best Friend.'

"No, Kyle, don't _'Stan'_ me. Craig is being a _dick_," he sassed out on Kyle. Craig turned around to face Stan, his signature bobble blue and red hat was not on his head and his fury made his uncovered messy, slate black bangs shake every time he tried to get out off his friend's tight grip on his wrists.

"_Please,_ Stan," Kyle begged some more. He really didn't want him to make a scene, and it seemed to have worked because Stan obediently stopped and calmed down before apologizing.

"Sorry, Kyle," Stan said with a sincere, apologetic look on his face before glaring once more at Craig and back with shame at Kyle. He was ready to leave and finally finish the Science assignment with his life-long best friend who always gets straight-A's when Craig, with his head dizzy with hatred and all the pressure ready to gush out, threw a fist at Stan's open jaw still close to him.

"_Shit!" _Stan winced, taking a minute to hold unto the pulsing bruise, it was already a deadly taupe and purple. Tweek was bewildered, he was expecting that to hit him like the several other injuries he gained in his early middle school years. Kyle, although used to the common occurrence of such obscenity, still looked aghast and he ran inside to try and get someone to stop this because he really didn't feel like getting hurt then.

When Kyle was gone, Stan punched Craig in his favorite spot, his rib cage, out of vengefulness. They were both completely delirious; boots and sneakers were beating shins, palms were slapping vivid red cheeks, nails were scratching skin and knuckles were beating the contours of many muscly limbs. Neurotic Tweek's were paralyzed, people were watching and... a phone was ringing?

Craig ignored the vibrations in his left jeans pocket to continue acting out his rage on Stan. They were both on the floor now, Craig was straddling Stan, throwing punches and socking each other in the nose. They were huffing and puffing and huffing some more, they were both trying to give the last punch, they were both trying to knock each other out of consciousness. They both had forgotten why they were even fighting in the first place, but they just didn't care. They could both hear the jeering and the booing, the scared shrieks and... Clyde Donovan.

"Craig, Bebe wants to know if you are with Tweek or not," said Clyde through the phone. Stan must have accidentally accepted the phone call and put it on loudspeaker.

Craig stood up, not minding his injuries and the crimson droplets of blood trickling down his cheeks, way down to his jaw, his neck and unto his fleece, nor did he mind Stan's. He didn't mind the grazes on his arms and his legs. He didn't mind the eyes double taking the scene and the fingers busily texting it to their friends. He didn't mind the whispers, the mutters and the alarmed faces, including Kyle's and Principal Victoria's. He just wanted to talk to Clyde and see what he wanted, maybe that would calm him down.

He asked to be excused by Principal Victoria to talk to Clyde and she reluctantly accepted his request.

* * *

Bebe and Clyde heard the grunts, the slamming and the cursing. They could vaguely hear the audience, the 'oo's' and the 'aah's'. They both knew Craig was fighting some one, that some one was most likely to be Stan Marsh.

They both waited patiently for it to end, or at least Craig's attention. Clyde whistled and Bebe started tapping her heel again to end the silence. When they heard the grunting, slamming and cursing die down, Clyde glanced at Bebe, who prodded him on, and put it on loudspeaker before talking. "Craig, Bebe wants to know if you are with Tweek or not."

Craig instantly replied, his voice still nasally but also robotic from the electric static you hear on the phone. "Yup, I'm with Tweek, _Tweek..." _

Tweek squeaked about his conspiracies about jail to the phone from surprise and asked if Clyde was one. Clyde assured him that it was not the FBI but he couldn't help but be confused, why was Craig actually with Tweek? He had no idea, but he was going to ask him that later.

Bebe sulked like Clyde had done earlier and Clyde's stomach started rumbling ferociously. He finished the call and put the phone back in his pocket after asking Craig what happened only to hear him say he was going to vent to Tweek quickly before going to the Principal's office with Marsh.

Both Clyde and Bebe looked around in the lot they both knew very well to prevent the awkward after talk from beginning. The fir trees acted like skyscrapers, its shadows lied on top of the snow dumped from the heavens. There were squirrels, badgers, stray dogs and cats lurking around the branches and wet bushes that startled Clyde, naturally. The sky was still blood-curdling but it was now also a hypnotizing hybrid of gray, scarlet and burnt orange as the thick clouds hid the sinking sun.

"Hey, Bebe?" Clyde asked for her attention when he felt his stomach rumble again and she drew her focus to the slightly husky face in front of her.

"Yes."

"Do you want to go to Taco Bell? Not, like, for a _date,_" he scoffed, "or anything but, you know, as friends," he stuttered as he looked around and stared at the far away mountains separating South Park from Denver. His heart was softly pounding against his rib cage from the fear of rejection.

Bebe stood there, thinking whether she should go or not and then accepted the request, "Sure, I'll come."

"You will? _Awesome, _have I ever told you how cool you are Bebe?" Clyde cheered and asked. He subconsciously grabbed her hand, excited for his one-sided totally romantic date with Bebe in his favorite restaurant.

But Bebe was thinking other wise, her mind wasn't focusing on his rhetorical question. She was too busy plotting something in her head. It was unfortunately out of her control, the destructive boobs she owned had spread its evilness to the rest of her body, including her heart and brain. Bebe would always seek revenge, even if what the counter person had done was intentional or not.

She knew a _special _person who was perfect for the sprouting idea in her head and _also_ worked in Taco Bell. She would collide with this person, some one just as menacing as her true self, in a twisted plan. She was ditched, and she was **never** ditched. Craig will learn his lesson and change to how he should be with the little help of her influential, conspiring rack, this special person and her very own mind.

With all due respect to Wendy, her methods of revenge is nothing even remotely close to Bebe Stevens' own; killing slutty teachers with assassins is too quick to be thoroughly enjoyed and that saying of hers is complete phony because everybody knows..._  
_

_"No one, and we mean no one, **fucks** with Bebe Stevens... and her boobs, seriouslah."_

* * *

-Project OD: 2.1-


	4. The Blue Blooded Bebe

**Chapter 2**

The Blue Blooded Bebe

The High Street was full of consignment and drug stores, fast food restaurants such as the oriental P. T Chang's, small family businesses such as Tweak Bro's and buildings that were closed down because of the teenagers who found entertainment in smashing the thin windows and robbing video games, gaming stations and the trending clothes for the sake of looking 'kewl'.

Amongst these barely stable shops was Clyde's absolute favorite one, Taco Bell, which was placed right in between Tom's Rhinoplasty and Tweak Bro's in the middle of the street. It was a welcoming restaurant where all the bored staff smiled whenever they saw his charismatic self. They played music that had topped the charts, varying from pop and dubstep to indie and adult contemporary, and the aroma of all the ingredients that wafted its way through the kitchen to the eating hall always gave Clyde a sense of nostalgia when ever he'd remember the many birthday parties he had there, the fun times, and the totally awesome gifts.

He trudged through the snow piling unto each other ungracefully with Bebe's hand still locked firmly in his as they walked down roads, turned at corners and conversed with little chit-chat that later turned into hushed peacefulness until they reached their destination.

Clyde smiled widely when he reached those ever so familiar transparent doors, stretched forth his arm and pushed the slab open with his palm. He stood there, arm still in a straight line, grinning with half-lidded eyes like Joey Tribbiani, and that did indeed made the cheered up Bebe blush if not a little.

"Ladies, first," Clyde granted.

"Go on, then," Bebe giggled. She was enjoying herself too much, in her standards, and was slowly getting a little carried away. She stopped flirting to remind herself of why she was really here, and it definitely wasn't for that. She hoped not, but guessing by what Clyde was wearing, that was probably the case.

She took the epiphany her dubious mind showed her hard; Clyde was replacing Craig, hence the formal wear he was wearing underneath, and Tweek was stealing Craig away from her. She didn't know how she didn't realize this before.

She also didn't remember at what point Clyde obediently walked inside and when that worrying expression crept up unto his face. She didn't remember at what point she entered Taco Bell and when Clyde pecked a warm, playful kiss on her cheek. She didn't know at what point Clyde's eyes were already busily scanning the menu above the counter and when he started to rest his chubby fore arms, lazily crossed over each other, on the empty cream, marble counter.

The menu was on the half wall connected to the ceiling with fluorescent lights flashing underneath the paper so you could see it even in the pitch black night. There was a wide range of specials, from the Grand Taco to the super saver, and the taco enthusiast had proudly tried them all. His favourite was the grand, the fairly wet lettuce with the different spices and sauces tingled all of his taste-buds once they had a good grasp on the flavor. He liked it mildly hot, though, because he couldn't handle the abundance of spices in a very hot taco as they overtook everything else and the mild was ever so bland.

Bebe waltzed to where Clyde was standing after contemplating upon why Clyde was _actually_ there, for it didn't _seem_ like him do such a thing. She went to where his athletic form was leaning against the divider, and cut him off before he could ask what she wanted. And instead of scanning the menu, she scanned his clothes.

_Properly._

"Take that jacket off," she demanded indignantly. If she was calculating this situation correctly, Craig _must_ have switched places with Clyde so he wouldn't have to go to the date with her at all, not the other scenario placed in her head moments ago. That may have not been true, there was always that possibility that it was a pure coincidence that Clyde happened to pass by and went up to talk to her, but that probability was very little once you are referring to the impassive rebel.

Clyde, scared of her snarky tone, took hold of his white zip being accusingly pointed at by Bebe's thimble index finger and dragged it down until his v-shirt was revealed. He took out his arms and threw the lucky Letterman in the insides of his left elbow before putting the hand of his unoccupied arm to his waist. He span around on the tiled floor, which was a dirty brown and wet from the soles of many hungry customers, to show off what he was wearing and slipped clumsily unto the floor -ass first.

If Bebe was anyone else, she would have snickered or maybe even cried sympathetically and hoisted him up. She could have even slapped him for going along with Craig's, or Tweek's, obvious plan, but no, she had a much better idea. She remained being a solemn bitch and left the cry baby to whine and pick himself up like a man; her stereotypical American Queen accent rang through the just about empty restaurant, calling for the cashiers so she could ask for that 'special someone'.

That hour, Taco Bell had a new set of staff working the cash machines, cleaning the floor with mops and occasionally waiting their few customers.

The first cashier to arrive from the staff room was in her mid 20's and was clearly of some African or Jamaican descent; her skin was high in pigment and many of her features were common among West Africans. Her scarlet red weave inspired by Rihanna reached down to her busty hips. Her over exaggerated way of speech as she talked to her 'boo' on her Blackberry Bold blared through the room; the pink bubblegum that was squished and stretched by fake, gold molars and were blown into an edible balloon between her big, bronze lips was the only thing silencing her large mouth for a short period of time.

"What did I tell ya, didn't I tell ya, I told'ya," she said, walking towards the first cash machine, whilst looking at her long, talon-like purple nails that resembled ones of a succubus, "Shaniqua is a **hoe**, Reece is _yo' _man and she sucked him for money 'cuz she po, gurl."

When she was behind the machine, it took her what felt like 15 minutes to stop talking before snarlingly asking Bebe what she wanted, "What'ya want, and tell me _quickly_."

Before Bebe could stop it, or at least hide the blinding light, her boobs started flashing blue through all the layers of clothing and started talking for her. "We- _She _is looking for an Eric Cartman."

Clyde stood there stunned at the sight as well as the cashier. Even though Bebe was a female, her nipples had a ruly, deep voice that did in fact hold a demanding tone. Clyde started to feel the salty tears wetting his flushed chipmunk cheeks and the chills running over his goosebumps again and again along with the thickened atmosphere.

Bebe matured earlier than her class mates, and with that came the spread of the Evil Syndrome which _usually_ began in the heart, but for her started in her breasts. It would make one evil, just like its name implied. The desire to torture people immensely and cause destruction would disturb them and they would later become psychopaths who then became uncontrollable serial killers.

It had an affect on whoever was in their presence, it would make them frightened but possessed. It was almost like telekinesis, you could control ones actions with mind control (or tit control, depending on where it began) just by merely enhancing a hormone of any choice; the ones that produced the over whelming feeling of fear was the one most favored by sufferers.

Because of Bebe's wish, the Jamaican cashier threw her hands up in surrender, dropping her phone on the counter in the process with a clunk, even though she wasn't threatening her and shouted for Eric Cartman.

The aforementioned man walked out with a handful of many chocolate glazed donuts. He was still a fat ass but toned down a bit after having a bet worth $20 with Kenny that he could lose more weight than 'Honey Boo Boo' had done last year. Being Eric Cartman, he lost; he couldn't resist his Oreos, his Cheesy Poofs and his double Mountain Dew. The perverted blond got his money a week later and bought a stash of Playboys, naturally.

"Yes, Bitch," Cartman chided, his voice distorted by the chomping and the munching of the appetizing donuts.

He saw the startled facial expression on her face from the beginning of the short hallways with bright orange walls and laughed at it, he assumed she was probably getting mugged or and was too much of a pussy to deal with it. Luckily enough for her, Cartman was made of muscle and was most definitely sexy so they would have to respect his authority.

He was already screaming, "money hungry Jews, YOU BETTER RESPECT MY AUTHORITAH," having not yet gotten over his mispronunciations of some words and names when he abruptly came to a halt.

There stood a sweating Clyde, clutching unto his soaked Letterman for dear life, with tears and dried crust on his face. Monique, the name of the previous cashier, whipped away from the room whispering into the phone about 'some juju shit' whilst Bebe squeezed Clyde's strained hand and gave Eric a cunning smirk.

Her crystalline eyes were dilated and glazed over because of a sweet, blissful sensation, a symptom of the syndrome. Only Cartman knew why she was so, he could tell that the lukewarm red blood cells in her veins were converting into a stimulating gun-metal blue color. This wasn't a good thing to watch for most people, but for some reason he was just as immune to its effect on others as was Kenny, who had his scrawny legs sprawled out on the carpet, eating the custard creams Butters had made, in the staff room that reeked of tacos.

"Hello, _the_ _Coon,_" slurred Bebe. Her elongated snake-like tongue licked her cold lips feverishly, her make up was melting under the temporary heat her body radiated, revealing her sickly pale face and purple veins on her neck and forehead, "..._long time no see._"

* * *

-Project O.D: 2.2-

* * *

_A.N: This sub-chapter was very short but had to be so, dude. This is the only chapter split into sub-chapters, I think, and there will be two more to go before the normal chapters come up again._

_I'll make sure I'll explain about Bebe and Cartman much more clearly later, it is meant to be confusing at the start. So if you are confused, that's **good **for she is a disturbed young woman who is to be unraveled as the story progresses... it is much more interesting like that. Besides, this is one of those stories that make sense as it goes along ;}_

_Also, I'll be bring Creek back in the next sub-chapter, I think, and then it will be more consistent as I add more chapters._

_**...**_

_Now, reviews. This is the only time, I swear, that I'll talk about reviews but here we go:_

_These little sentences, or even paragraphs, helps a fellow brother. Look, it tells me a lot about mistakes I may have done. I may have it all pictured nice and clear in my head but maybe it is not showing in how I write. Tips are like the bomb, seriouslah._

_I'm not going to threaten you by saying I'll kill a llama if you don't review or I'll give you a rainbow unicorn which has a jewfro like Kyle if you do because I am, unfortunately, pretty literal when it comes to shit. So what I will give your comment is probably a cheesy smile, maybe even a funny private message if I like it because it was funny or one saying thanks and some other things if it really had helped me. If I felt it was a 'Damien flame', I'd probably be bummed. _

_But y'know, you shouldn't flame because flaming is bad, mmkay? Mmkay._

**_..._**

_And **that **is the last time I'll have such a long author's note._


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